


How to Bake Watson's Favourite Biscuits

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Baking, Cooking, Dom/sub, Food Kink, John Watson's Blog, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John describes how good his Dom makes him feel when he observes him baking for him... and what happens after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Bake Watson's Favourite Biscuits

 

**4 th May**

I so rarely discuss my personal live with Sherlock, and indeed I normally don’t want to, that many of you aren’t aware of how human he can be. Today I’d like to share a moment we had that is the epitome of our relationship together.

You see, sometimes I have needs that are simply beyond my control. The arid desert begins to creep up on me. The sound of cars backfiring becomes bulletfire. The sun once eagerly awaited in London seems whiter and crueller than ever it shone on this beautiful city. On those days I descend into a malaise deeper than that of my companion. At that point, I choose a task that needs doing and ask him to help me with it.

Today, it was baking. Today I baked a huge batch of peanut butter biscuits. Sounds domestic and blasé? It would be, if I didn’t have an absolutely filthy domestic chores kink. Yes, you read that correctly. I, John H. Watson, Captain and Doctor, am an absolute slut about submitting during cleaning or cooking.

It starts with me stripping down to my pants- if I really need to get Sherlock’s attention I wear the camo ones- and putting on a camo apron that says “SUCK THE CHEF” in large letters on the front. Then I start by cleaning the kitchen up of Sherlock’s mess. That gets his attention and he’ll come in and pull up a chair, watching me silently from the entryway. Every once in a while he might interject to tell me where to put something, but I generally know where it all goes by now. Then I start baking. I do it old-school. Set out the ingredients on the counter, measure the dry first, then the wet, before mixing the two together. All the while Sherlock’s foot begins to tap on the floor. I put each ingredient away as I’m through with it to reduce clean-up later. I mix it with my hands if it isn’t a cake batter or something that needs whipping. I like to feel the ingredients between my fingers and using as few tools as possible gives me a feeling of drudgery that rather appeals to my dark moods.

“What are you making?” He’ll ask at this point, though he’s deduced full well. It’s my response he wants.

“I’m baking peanut butter biscuits, _Sir_ ,” I respond.

He makes a pleased sound in the back of his voice and waits for me to continue. The oven dings pre-heated and I start plopping down little sugary balls of delight on a tray. In they go and I set the timer for twelve minutes. It seems like a short span, but- oh! - What you can do in twelve minutes!

Sherlock is out of his chair like a shot, pushing my hands against the counter. There’s flour on my forearms and the smell of vanilla in my nose as he tugs my pants down. Without even a by-your-leave he rubs his hand over my bare bum and gives me a warm up smack. I whimper a bit because the foreplay was the baking and _this_ is what I’d been waiting for.

He turns me around, drops to one knee, and sucks my cock for a moment just to tease me. He runs his tongue under the foreskin and presses the tip into the slit, and stares up at me with those opalescent eyes as if he could consume me from where he kneels. He very well could, but I don’t get to come without permission so I think _very_ boring thoughts and hold myself at bay. Then he spins me around again and this time his mouth is on a far _filthier_ place.

This is the part that will have me coming apart, the steam from the running dishwasher blasting my belly and chest, the feel of the firm thud of his hand on my arse, his tongue opening me up, and then that moment when he snatches up the cooking oil and I _know_ he’s going to have me right then and there.

Cooking oil always seems like a good idea from a kinky aspect for those of you with food fetishes, but let me tell you it gets a bit grainy after a while. Luckily Sherlock knows how to get me off fast and isn’t the sort to drag out what needs to be done, especially with a timer running. He is, after all, a man of dramatic flair. He takes up a pace that’s as brutal as the spanking he’s given me, gripping my cock with the efficiency of a sex toy masterfully rendered into flesh, blood, and genius.

“Please! Sir! Please!”

“Please what, my Cinder-boy?” Sherlock purrs in that sinfully deep voice.

“Please let me come, Sir!”

“Come for me, _private_.”

Then I’m coming apart, my load shooting across the nice silver finish on the dishwasher Mycroft had installed as some silly present for us. He probably thought it would deter us, but the slosh of the water echoing through the old rooms only serves to make me think of the fluids he’s now pumping into my bowels. I have been completely and thoroughly owned. Made useful and then used. I am floating in the bliss of headspace and breathing in the scent of freshly baked biscuits.

Sherlock pulls out and walks perfunctorily towards the bathroom to wash up. I glance at the timer. One minute. The show-off. I tug up my pants that are dangling around one ankle and remove my soiled apron. My hands are still clean as I’ve touched nothing untoward, but I wash them anyway. It’s just polite. Anyone might be eating these biscuits later!

The timer goes off and I pop on a mit, open the oven, and breathe in the most beautiful aroma in the world- freshly baked biscuits and sex. Nothing will settle me into the calm of a good night’s sleep better.

Onto the counter they go to cool, and heaven knows they’ll be eaten by morning with my sugar-addict flatmate running about. Either way, I’ve got what I need so off to shower and then straight to bed with me. After turning off the oven first, of course.

Well, I hope you enjoyed a night of baking with Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Good night, and happy (and sanitary) food fun!

 

1,203 COMMENTS 

WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, SHERLOCK?! THIS IS JOHN ON MRS. HUDSON'S ACCOUNT. RESTORE MY PASSWORD AND TAKET HIS DOWN! JW

Mrs Hudson

 

No. Not until you bake me biscuits like you promised.

Sherlock Holmes

 

PEOPLE WILL TALK! JW

Mrs Hudson

 

People do little else. I believe I’ve made my point.

Sherlock Holmes

 

I FUKCING NEW IT!

Harry Watson

 

Get sober or get out.

Sherlock Holmes

 

YOU CAN TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!

Harry Watson

 

You’re correct. I can.

Sherlock Holmes

 

HA! YOU STUPIDER THAN YOU LOOK JUST AREED WITH MEE!

Harry Watson

 

Oh my good Lord, how do you cope with her, John?

Sherlock Holmes

 

By living with you. Thanks for reminding me, Harry. I was halfway to packing my bags over this post. Okay, Sherlock. You win. I’m coming down to bake my famous peanut butter biscuits, but then you ARE giving me back my account and taking this down! JW

Mrs Hudson

 

:D

Sherlock Holmes


End file.
